


Quid Pro Quo

by Pokeydotes



Series: It's the Little Things, Dude [15]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokeydotes/pseuds/Pokeydotes
Summary: Peter and Ned need a favor, Tony has an idea, and Pepper needs a vacation.Or the one where Peter somehow ends up working as an actual intern and they all get more than they bargained for in the process.
Series: It's the Little Things, Dude [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565779
Comments: 43
Kudos: 499
Collections: Absolute Faves





	Quid Pro Quo

They had waited months for this moment. Literal months, three to be exact.

And it was all for nothing. Peter stared at the little “sold out” message flashing on the screen and just turned disbelieving eyes to Ned.

Ned was obviously traveling faster through the stages of grief than Peter. Because while Peter was still trying to figure out what the fuck just happened, Ned had already moved passed denial and anger and was currently laid out on the living room floor, absently watching the ceiling fan spin in lazy circles in all his depressed glory.

Peter turned back to the laptop, hit refresh _just in case_ , and made a noise like an angry growl before he slammed his forehead on the table and left it there.

That’s how May found them. She wandered into the living room, saw their justified dramatics, and said, “I’m assuming this means you didn’t get the tickets?”

“They’re sold out,” Ned explained.

Peter didn’t have to look at May to know she was frowning. He could hear it in her voice. “Already? I thought they just went on sale?”

“They did.” Ned’s voice was soft, distant. “Three laptops and two phones all logged in to get tickets and they just…sell out.”

“I’m sorry, guys,” she said, and god love her half as much as Peter did, she really sounded sympathetic. “Do you want me to make tacos?”

“No,” Ned sighed. “I don’t want to associate something I love with this feeling of despair.”

“What about you, sweetie?” May asked, turning to Peter. “Tacos?”

Peter groaned.

May just placed a kiss on the top of his head and ruffled his hair before she grabbed her computer from the table and headed towards her bedroom. “I don’t know why you two were even wasting your time trying to get them online. I’d have thought Tony could have hooked you up with a pair of tickets no problem.”

Holy shit.

Peter jerked his head up and looked to Ned. Ned looked back.

“Dude.”

It took two hours to get to the tower thanks to morning traffic. Tony was still in his pajamas when they walked out of the elevator, clearly surprised to see two teenage boys up bright and early when school wasn’t involved.

His surprise just morphed into confusion as they tried to explain why they were there.

He pulled the egg carton from the fridge, sat it on the counter, and frowned.

“What now?”

“N. B. Wyland,” Ned began. “We want to see him.”

Peter nodded. “He’s gonna be in New York for two days.”

“And he’s presenting a panel at the convention,” Ned added.

“We already have passes to the convention,” Peter explained, “but we were trying to get tickets to the actual panel.”

“But they sold out in, like seconds.”

“And we worked so hard to save the money.”

“Like, literal seconds. Just bloop, sold out.”

“I had to do Mrs. McClursky’s laundry twice a week, every week for three months. Do you have any idea how many loads of old lady clothes that is?”

Tony’s eyes had gone wide, but instead of answering either Peter or Ned, he just turned those wide eyes towards Pepper, who was trying to hide her amusement behind a glass of orange juice.

Tony blinked, licked his lips, and then said with a studious frown, “Okay, we’re gonna back up, and then _one at a time_ , you’re gonna try to explain it to me again, okay?”

Peter opened his mouth to do just that, but Tony held up a hand and furrowed his brow, silencing whatever Peter had been about to say.

“Slowly,” Tony ordered. “First, who are you wanting to see?”

“N. B. Wyland,” Peter said. Slowly.

Tony nodded. “And who is N. B. Wyland?”

“He’s a famous YouTuber,” Peter explained. “He streams game play, he does cosplay—”

“Figures you’d be into a guy who dresses up in crazy outfits.”

“Really, _Iron Man_? How many suits you got now?”

Pepper had to turn away when she snorted orange juice out of her nose.

Tony ignored them both. Ned picked up where Peter had left off.

“Wyland also records all of his DnD quests. He’s the DM.”

Tony frowned. “He’s the what now?”

“Dungeon Master,” Peter explained.

“That sounds kinky.”

“It’s not.”

“And why do you want to see him so badly?”

“Because…” Peter frowned.

“He’s awesome,” Ned answered. His tone hinted that it should have been obvious.

“Right,” Tony said, clicking his tongue and tapping the side of his thumb on the counter top. He narrowed his eyes as he looked from Peter to Ned to Peter to Ned. Then the corner of his mouth quirked into the smallest of smirks and Peter felt nervous. “Okay, so you two nerds just want to meet this guy?”

“We just want to get into the panel,” Peter corrected. “We don’t have enough money for an actual meet and greet.”

“Right,” Tony said absently, like he wasn’t even listening. That was probably because he was already scheming. Or at least Peter thought he was. He had his scheming face on at any rate. “I can see about getting you what you want, but it won’t be free.”

“Between the two of us, we have almost two hundred dollars,” Ned explained. “And my birthday is in two months, and my Nana always writes me a check. It’s only for like twenty bucks, but—”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there Baby Warbucks,” Tony said, waving a dismissive hand in the air as he glanced at Pepper before turning back to the boys. “Money’s not really an issue. I have lots of money. What I don’t have a lot of is time. Or patience. Both I value highly.”

Peter saw Pepper put her empty juice glass in the sink and frown at Tony’s back. Tony must have sensed it because he was very careful not to turn around.

Instead, he turned all of his attention to Peter. “You’re an intern. I think it’s time you officially start doing…interny things.”

“Tony…” Pepper warned.

Tony ignored her. Peter gave her a worried glance, then turned back to Tony. “Like what?”

“There’s a couple of meetings coming up—”

“Tony.”

“—And it would be very beneficial to my happiness if I didn’t have to go to them.”

“Anthony.”

That got his attention.

Peter took a small step towards Ned as Tony slowly turned around. “Virginia.”

Pepper just glared. “I know where this is going, and the answer is no.”

“Why?” Tony asked with a shrug. “You said it yourself, they’re smart kids. Name one kid you know who’s smarter than Peter. And this one hacked my suit.” Tony turned and looked at Ned. “I’m still mad about that by the way.”

“Peter made me do it.”

“Dude.”

Pepper rubbed her hands over her eyes and took a deep breath. “You are the engineer behind this project,” she pointed out, but Tony kind of looked like he already knew that. “There won’t be a meeting if you’re not there to give the presentation.”

“There will be if the kid goes.”

Pepper blinked, then… “You want _him_ to give the presentation!”

Tony folded his arms and tilted his head. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound it. “I thought that was clear.”

Pepper placed one hand on the counter while the other began massaging her temple. “Peter cannot give the presentation.”

“Why not?” Tony challenged.

“Because he looks twelve years old.” She paused, looked to Peter, and added, “No offense.”

Peter tilted his head with a little frown. “I’m gonna say ‘none taken’, but just know that’s a lie.”

She ignored him. So did Tony, who turned and pointed to Ned. “Then we’ll let Ned do it.”

It took a moment, probably due to shock, but eventually Ned caught on to the fact that Tony Stark had just volunteered him for something he very much did not want to do. “Oh no. No, I don’t do public speaking.”

“Relax,” Tony said, waving a dismissive hand. “All you have to do is read aloud.”

But Ned was already shaking his head. “Nope. Once in sixth grade I was reading out loud in science class and accidently said orgasm instead of organism. Been traumatized ever since.”

Tony made a face like he was caught between laughing and genuinely feeling sorry. He settled on something in the middle, a little closer to sympathy, and said, “Bless your heart.”

Pepper gave a fake smile, clapped her hands, and turned to Tony. “So it’s settled. You will do your job and give the presentation.”

“Nope,” Tony said, popping the P as he pushed himself away from the counter to grab a bowl. “Quid Pro Quo. Peter’s gonna do it, and I’m gonna get him his tickets to N.B. what’s his name.”

“Wyland,” Ned supplied, but quickly hushed when Peter rammed an elbow into his side.

“Tony,” Pepper sighed, but she sounded defeated. Tony must have heard it too, because he just grinned.

“People would be less likely to think he’s my long lost illegitimate heir if we actually treated him like an intern,” he said.

Peter’s brain glitched for a moment before the words sunk in. “People think I’m your kid?”

They ignored him.

“So why not start now?” Tony continued.

Pepper rolled her eyes and turned away. “Fine. Peter can give the presentation.”

“Great.” Tony smiled. “Now who wants eggs?”

It took a day and a half to learn all the material, because yeah, it was mostly just reading out loud, but Tony wanted Peter to actually know what he was talking about.

“You gotta sell it, kid. If _you_ don’t know what you’re saying, _they_ won’t.”

“They’re engineers, Mr. Stark—”

“Tony.”

“Tony,” Peter shuffled the pages and looked to the powerpoint FRIDAY had displayed. “Pretty sure they’re smart enough to know what’s going on.”

Tony rolled his eyes and pulled the wrapper off a lime green sucker. “Doubt it,” he said, popping the lolli in his mouth. “I’d bet the company that you’re smarter than most of them.”

“I doubt that.”

“Don’t,” Tony said. He looked at Peter, his expression serious. “I wouldn’t trust just anyone with this. You’re a certified genius. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Peter felt his ears start to burn as they turned red. Tony, for once, decided to cut him some slack. He tapped the lolli on the stack of notes, leaving behind a smear of sticky green, and said, “Alright, from the top.”

By the time Monday morning rolled around, Peter knew the presentation inside and out. Tony had quizzed him, going so far as to pretend to ask weirdly absurd questions to try and catch Peter off guard.

“Think of the dumbest question, and assume they’ll ask it,” Tony had advised. “There are two types of engineers. The ones who think they know more than you and the ones who doubt their every decision.”

Peter had jumped up on the worktable and started kicking his feet back and forth. “Bet I can guess which one you are.”

Tony had retaliated by sticking a sucker, a red one that time, onto Peter’s forehead.

Now it was the ass crack of dawn, and Peter was starting to wonder if the whole quid pro quo thing was really worth it. He trudged out of bed, put some coffee on to brew, showered, and tried to wrestle his only tie into submission.

“You know,” May said, handing Peter a steaming cup of coffee, “Most teenagers spend their summer breaks sleeping till noon before vegging out on TV.”

“Most teens don’t know Tony Stark,” Peter pointed out, slurping the still too hot coffee. “The meeting starts at eight, so I—” his phone began to buzz, Happy’s familiar scowl lighting up the screen. “He’s early.”

“You’re late,” May corrected, grabbing the half-empty coffee cup and pushing him towards the door. “Good luck!”

Peter spent the first half of the car ride reading over the notes, trying to remember the tips Tony had given about making eye contact and not rushing through the words.

When they hit traffic on the bridge, Happy eased the car to a stop, looked into the rearview mirror, and said in a tired voice, “Parker.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re shaking the car.”

Peter looked up with a frown, then looked down. His left leg was bouncing up and down, making the car rock slightly.

“Relax, kid. Pepper’s not gonna eat you alive.”

She looked like she would though. Not that Peter told her.

She met him in the lobby, hair pulled back in a tight bun, heels click-clacking on the tiled floor. She led him to the elevator, down a series of halls, and into an empty conference room.

As soon as they walked in, she dropped a stack of files onto the table and turned to look him over. “You ready for this?” she asked, reaching for his neck and working his tie loose.

“Is it too late to say no?” he asked, ducking his head and trying not to look too confused as she pulled his tie off.

“Seeing how Tony’s turned off his phone and ordered FRIDAY to ignore me? Maybe.” She put the tie around her neck and began working it into an admittedly, much nicer knot. She paused and looked him in the eye. “But if you don’t want to do this, I will physically go and get him.”

“I’m good,” he lied. “Just have to stick to the script, right?”

“If you feel like you’re losing the group, just look to Happy,” she said, slipping the newly knotted tie around his head and tightening it a bit more than Peter thought was necessary. “He’ll send me a message, and I’ll come rescue you.”

Peter lifted his chin to give her better access and frowned. “Happy’s staying?”

“Don’t worry. He’s not here for you. He’s just here to make sure the others behave and don’t give you a hard time.”

And if she thought that wouldn’t make him worry…

Peter swallowed, looked at all the empty chairs and the blank screen on the far wall. “Is this a bad idea?” he asked.

She stopped messing with his collar and sighed. “It’s not my favorite idea,” she admitted, reaching out and smoothing Peter’s tie so that it lay flat, “But as far as Tony goes, this isn’t the worst idea he’s had.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “And he’s right. You’re the smartest kid I know, Peter.” She turned and grabbed the files from the table, before adding in a somewhat irritated tone, “Probably smarter than half these engineers.”

“That’s what Mr. Stark said.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Peter disagreed.

She left to do whatever CEOs do, Happy found a chair in the back of the room and began chugging his coffee, and Peter went about setting up the powerpoint and trying to convince himself the reason he couldn’t breathe was because the tie was too tight.

He reached up to loosen it, but Happy stopped him. “Don’t touch that.”

“It’s too tight.”

“No it’s not,” he said, tossing his now empty cup into the garbage. “Just breathe, Parker.”

Peter took a deep breath and tried to focus on the notes in front of him.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah,” Peter admitted.

“Good, keep doing that.”

“Breathing?”

“Would you rather stop?”

“I think I’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Happy leaned back and gave Peter a scrutinizing look. “How is it you can ramble on ninety-to-nothing when some psycho is shooting exploding bullets at you, but you clam up and look like you’re two seconds from pissing your pants at this?”

Peter shrugged. “No idea.”

“Just pretend it’s decathlon. You do great there.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

“You gave the presentation to Tony, right? He say you did a good job?”

“Yeah?”

“Then you got this.”

And Peter didn’t know why, but that actually made him feel better. Which was a freaking miracle because the door opened and men and women who looked like they were used to knowing what the fuck was going on started to stream into the room.

Peter wiped his palms on the side of his legs and met their confused stares with a polite smile.

“Hello,” he began, somewhat shakily. He swallowed, gripped the edges of the podium, and continued. “My name’s Peter. Peter Parker.”

“And _who_ are you, Peter Parker?” asked a smarmy looking man sitting with his back to the door. He was leaning back in his chair, one ankle propped on his knee, and totally giving Peter middle-aged Flash vibes.

“He’s Tony Stark’s personal intern,” Happy announced, lazily swiping though his phone. “And he helped develop this fancy whatever, so you should probably just shut it, Franklin, and let him do his thing.”

None of that was true, but Peter wasn’t about to point that out.

Peter gave Happy a grateful smile, adjusted his tie, and turned to the screen. “Lights, FRIDAY?”

The lights dimmed, and Peter began.

He wouldn’t say it went off without a hitch. He definitely rushed, and they definitely asked some stupid questions, but they also asked a few not so stupid ones that forced Peter to glance down at his notes once or twice, but he managed to reach the end without dying so he considered it a win.

Pepper did, too, apparently.

“You willing to play intern a little longer?” she asked when Peter politely barged into her office a few hours later.

“Sure,” he said. “Do I have to wear the tie?”

“You can lose the tie,” she said, smiling without looking up. “But apparently people are already talking about you.”

“That good or bad?” Peter asked, tugging the tie over his head and messing up his hair in the process.

“Mostly good, but what really matters,” she pushed on, not giving Peter a chance to latch onto the fact that ‘mostly good’ meant ‘some bad’, “Is that people know you now. Or at least they’re aware of your existence.”

“And that’s good?”

“It is when I don’t have to explain why a teenager has top security clearance at a multi-billion dollar cutting edge tech facility.”

Peter paused halfway through balling up his tie and shoving it in his pocket. “You’re giving me top security clearance?”

“No,” Pepper said. She finally looked up from her work and folded her hands neatly in front of her. “You already have it. Tony gave it to you over a year ago.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“That’s so cool.” When Pepper made a face like she might disagree, Peter added an unsure, “Or not?”

But Pepper just smiled. “Relax, Peter. I think you’ve more than proven you deserve it. In fact,” she stood and began gathering folders into her bag, “After today’s little performance, I’d say several people would agree.”

“Yeah?”

She smiled again. “Yes.” Then she raised her eyebrows, shouldered her bag and rounded the desk. “Which is why I need you to accompany me on a little fieldtrip.”

“Okay?” Peter shuffled on his feet. “Am I allowed to ask where?”

“Downstairs,” she clarified. “Thanks to Tony’s little experiment, you are officially the de facto expert on this new generator.”

Peter felt all the color leave his face. “I’m really not.”

“You really are.” She gave him another smile, the one she usually gave Tony when she was about to get her way. “At least, the only one currently available. And thanks to someone who is about to be unemployed leaking word of the prototype’s existence online, the hounds are at the door.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means a press conference.” Peter assumed his fear must have shown because she quickly added, “A small one.”

Peter gave his palms another wipe on his pants leg and refused to follow her to the door. “I think you should probably call Mr. Stark now.”

Pepper dropped her hand from the handle and sighed. “I would, if he wasn’t MIA.”

“What do you mean MIA?”

“I mean that he caught word of someone on the Hill about to do something very stupid with mutant rights and took off for DC two hours ago. Leaving me to deal with the reporters and bloggers all wanting to know about Stark Industries’ newest tech idea.”

“Ms. Potts,” Peter began. He gave his lips a nervous lick and forced his throat to swallow. “The only thing I know about this project is what was in those notes.”

“Then you still understand it more than I do.” Pepper pulled the door open and gestured for Peter to walk through it. “And you’re not going to have to give another presentation, I promise. This is just damage control,” she explained, jamming the elevator button angrily. “We get out in front of the leak before the entire project gets derailed, or worse copied.”

“And I need to be there because…?”

Pepper took a deep calming breath, sent a quick text on her phone, and said, “You’re there because I’ve only known about this for half an hour, and I haven’t had a chance to look at Tony’s notes. Not in detail like you.”

“And I’m supposed to explain it to the reporters?”

“God no.” She punched the button for the ground floor. “Trade secrets, Peter. Tony explain that to you?”

“He made me sign an NDA.”

Pepper nodded approvingly. “This definitely falls under that. We’re not telling them what it is, just giving them enough information to satisfy their curiosity and lay claim to the idea before a rival has enough time to throw something similar together and take the credit.”

And that made sense.

“Also, you won’t actually be speaking,” she informed him, much to his desperately needed relief. “Your job is to stand there and look like a dutiful intern, and maybe whisper in my ear if they ask anything I don’t know.”

“Okay, that sounds doable.” More lies. But it was a hell of a lot better than having to give another presentation.

Peter followed her towards the press room, head down. He jammed his hands in his pocket, played with the tie as he tried to ignore the sound of voices rumbling from the other side of the door.

Happy met them there, and he looked even more stern than normal. “Full house.”

“The Chronicle here?” Pepper asked. She pulled a folder out and handed her bag to Happy.

“Yeah, they sent McGraw.”

“Damn it,” she hissed. She took another deep breath, smoothed out her skirt, and turned to Peter. “Ready?”

“Not really, but I’m going to say yes anyway.”

“Good,” she said, before reaching up and fixing his hair. “Just smile and stay behind me. We got this.”

“We got this,” he echoed. Happy pulled open the door and cameras started to flash immediately.

Turned out Peter wasn’t the only one disappointed that Tony wasn’t there, because Pepper hadn’t even made it to the podium before someone was calling out “Where’s Stark?”

Peter had never been in the press room before, never really had any reason to, but it was definitely not what he expected. It was all white, with clean, sharp lines, and a shocking amount of natural light from the wall of windows stationed behind the press.

Peter remembered to pick up his feet, succeeded in not tripping as he walked onto the stage, and stood directly behind Pepper.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted, all smiles and professionalism that Peter could never hope to fake. “I want to thank you all for coming on such short notice and giving me the opportunity to clear up some rumors that have recently emerged online.”

The wispy noise of whispers quickly hushed, replaced by the whirs of the sound system and the steady click click clicks of cameras.

Peter looked out amongst the crowd and hoped they weren’t looking back. He tried to pay attention to what Pepper was saying, tried to remember everything that had been in Tony’s notes and what all he’d just said in that morning’s presentation.

Eventually, Pepper stopped talking which was obviously a cue, because as soon as she leaned away from the microphone, a dozen hands shot to the air.

“What applications will this device have?”

“Have you already filed a patent?”

“Do you expect to present a prototype at the next Stark Expo?”

“Is Tony Stark heading the project?”

Pepper just smiled and addressed one question at a time, offering a simple “I’m sorry, that’s classified,” or “I’m afraid I can’t say at the moment” when the questions got a little too specific.

“What about the rumors that say this thing is just another high dollar attempt at replicating solar energy?” asked a man on the front row.

Peter heard Happy groan and he saw the muscles in Pepper’s shoulder stiffen in irritation. Not that she let it show.

“I’d like to think that our reputation has earned us a bit more respect in what’s to be expected,” she said, doing a wonderful job of sounding polite. “Stark Industries prides itself on groundbreaking research, not reinventing the wheel.”

For the record, Peter thought that was an excellent answer, but the asshole didn’t look satisfied.

“TechDaily reports that it’ll use renewable energy. That’ll limit its uses if it relies on wind or solar power. Can you comment on that?”

“Are you wanting me to give away everything, McGraw?”

“That’d be nice, but I’d settle for something worth the trip down here.”

Pepper’s shoulders did that rigid thing again. Another sigh. And a hesitant turn towards Peter.

She placed her hand over the microphone, and asked in a hushed tone. “Please tell me he’s not right.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“I haven’t seen the design specs,” she reminded him. “Is this going to build on the reactor’s designs or did Tony just reinvent the wheel?”

“It works on a multi-isotope radio-decay cell,” Peter explained. Pepper just frowned at him.

Peter looked out at the expectant crowd, saw the triumphant grin on the asshole’s face, and gestured to the microphone. Pepper reluctantly stepped back.

“It won’t need an external input,” he began, looking to Pepper to make sure it was okay to continue. “The plan is for it to run on self-generating energy.”

The asshole frowned. “How?”

Pepper stepped back in, smile almost predatory. “ _That_ I can refuse to answer.”

The asshole frowned some more. “Who’s the kid?”

“He’s an intern,” Pepper said, thankfully leaving Peter’s name out of it. “He’ll be working closely on the project’s future development.”

Peter really hoped the face he was making was more humble pride and less shocked surprise at what he was almost certain was another lie.

There was some more questions, some more answers, but Peter didn’t hear any of it. He felt something pull at his brain, like a whisper just beneath his skull.

Then a tingle at the back of his neck.

He looked up, noticed Pepper was still talking, that Happy was watching the door.

Something was wrong.

The reporters were all listening, all taking their pictures, holding their recorders and trying to follow along with whatever was being said, trying to hear something worth repeating.

But then Peter saw it. A little flash, like a trick of the light or the sun reflecting off a passing car. Something was outside, across the street and on the second floor.

Peter didn’t wait to find out what it was. He just trusted his senses and went on instinct. He jumped forward, grabbed Pepper’s arm, and _pulled_.

Then there was a pop, a shattering of glass, and a burning, searing pain.

Then the screams. Always with the screams.

Peter landed on the stage, Pepper right below him before Happy was there, pulling them both back, forcing them behind the platform.

People were still screaming, running, trying to hide and get out of the room all at the same time.

Peter tried to get up, but something sharp pulled at his side and something heavy and Happy shaped was holding him down.

“Stay put!” Happy ordered.

“What was that?” Peter panted.

“You tell me kid,” Happy had his gun drawn, his eyes peering over the edge of the stage. “You acted before the shot rang out. You’re spidey tingle do that?”

“Someone shot at us?” Peter spluttered. And yeah, just because he could sense it coming didn’t mean he knew what it was. “Why would they do that?” he asked. Happy ignored him, eyes too busy looking for danger.

Peter turned to Pepper. “Why would they –,” he stopped. She had little streaks of red on her shirt, her arm was cradled against her chest, and her face was scrunched up in undeniable pain. “Ms. Potts?”

She released a shuddering breath, and opened her eyes. “I’m okay,” she said. Her face said otherwise. So did the blood on her shirt.

“You’re bleeding,” Peter said, reaching forward to touch the little streak of red.

“It’s my arm,” she hissed, shifting her shoulder only to cry out. “I think it’s broken.”

“You’re bleeding,” Peter repeated. But Pepper just shook her head.

“I don’t think--,” But then she looked up and her eyes went wide, despite the pain. “Peter.”

Peter followed her line of sight and frowned. Because that wasn’t right.

When he lifted his jacket, he saw another streak of red, this one bigger, right on his side.

“Happy,” Pepper gasped. She was already reaching forward, one arm pressed against her chest, the other pushing Peter onto his ass. “Happy, he’s been shot.”

“No,” Peter said, because that wasn’t right. It wasn’t. But there was blood and holy fuck did it burn when she pushed on it.

“Hey, let me see,” Happy ordered. The screaming had died down, and Peter could hear sirens in the distance. “Let me see, Parker.”

Peter watched as Happy inspected the wound, fingers moving the little tear in the suddenly wet shirt.

“I think it’s just a graze,” Happy said, sounding incredibly hopeful. “I think it’s, yeah. Yeah, It’s just a graze. You’re good.” He clapped his hand on Peter’s neck, looking way to relieved to notice he’d just left behind a smear of blood just below Peter’s ear. “You’re good.”

Pepper deflated, her head falling forward so her chin rested on her chest. “Jesus, kid.” She sounded too much like Tony just then.

Peter gave his bloodied side another disbelieving look before stammering, “We need to get out of here.”

“No shit,” Happy murmured, now turning his attention to Pepper.

Peter looked up and almost wished he hadn’t. She was still cradling her arm, still clenching her teeth and glaring at Happy like she’d rip his head off if he tried to touch it.

Happy didn’t touch it though, didn’t even try to, because he probably saw the same thing Peter was looking at.

The bone wasn’t sticking out of the skin, but it was still just as dramatic. Her arm…curved. Sharply. About halfway between her wrist and her elbow, the bone was oh so obviously broken, sticking up against the bruised skin like the slightest touch would cause it to break through.

Peter felt like he was going to throw up. Pepper did too.

“I’m going to be sick,” she said, swallowing convulsively while Happy put away his gun and reached for her shoulder, the one not attached to the disfigured arm.

“Deep breaths, Boss. You’ve got this.” He looked over his head when a swarm of police began flooding the room. “Hey! We need a medic here!” he yelled, pausing long enough to look at Peter, who was still slumped against the stage, before adding, “Two of ‘em!”

“I’m fine,” Peter assured him. It didn’t even hurt if he didn’t touch it, and medics were going to want to touch it. Besides, if it was just a graze…

“Kid, you just got shot at in a room full of reporters. Cameras and all,” Happy pointed out. “You’re going to the hospital.”

“Happy—"

“You’re going to the fucking hospital,” Pepper ordered. She was still squeezing her eyes shut, her face all scrunched up in pain, and she was taking soothing, calm breaths through clenched teeth. In short, Peter didn’t think it was a good time to argue with her.

Besides, the medics were already there, and they’d seen the blood, so…

The cops started blocking off the shattered windows while Peter bit his tongue and allowed the medics to lay him on the ground so they could double check that it was just a graze.

It was.

But they were big on the whole going to the hospital idea too.

So Peter allowed them to lead him to an ambulance, while Happy and an EMT who barely looked older than Peter helped Pepper climb into the back.

It was a short ride. Sirens were funny that way.

But the entire time, Peter kept staring at Pepper’s arm. At the ring of bruises that looked a little too much like the outline of his fingers. He listened to her gasp and groan as the medic stabilized it, tried not to puke when she gagged and threw up in a small plastic bag.

He tried to ignore the way her fingers shook uncontrollably from the pain.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. It wasn’t loud, but it still got Pepper’s attention. Her face was still scrunched up in pain, still pale and clammy looking, but Peter could make out a confused frown forming beneath the pain.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeated.

She opened her mouth to respond, but whatever she was about to say ended in a cry as the ambulance ran over a speedbump, jostling her arm.

The morphine must have kicked in then, because the medic did something to her IV and reminded her to take deep breaths, pointed out that they were almost there and it’d be okay.

She just leaned back and closed her eyes then. Her face just a bit less scrunched.

Peter kept quiet the rest of the way.

He gave answers when asked, followed the nurses and medics into the ER when they arrived, and dutifully sat still as they cleaned and stitched his side.

May found him over an hour later. He was sitting in the waiting room, jacket gone, shirt wrinkled, untucked, and bloodied.

He was sitting with his head leaning against the wall, watching as Happy talked on the phone, angrily hanging up and trying a new number every so often. Tony was still in Washington, still MIA.

May had been frantic at first, but once she saw Peter with her own two eyes, once Happy and two nurses assured her it was just an oversized scratch and there was nothing to worry about, she calmed down considerably.

Sometime after they rolled Pepper into the operating room to reset her bones, plural, because Peter had broken _two_ of them, May disappeared to the cafeteria, only to return a short time later with a couple cups of coffee.

Or Peter wished it was coffee. She handed one to Happy and the other to Peter, offering a smile and an apologetic, “I got you tea. Decaf.”

Peter wrinkled his nose, but drank it anyway. It was calming, placebo effect or not, and it gave Peter something else to focus on.

May sat beside him, propped her elbow on the back of the chair and began absently running her fingers through Peter’s hair. “You know, I’m sitting here, trying to figure out why you’re so upset and I just don’t get it.”

“I broke her arm, May.”

“You saved her life, baby.”

“They have to operate,” Peter reminded her. “They were talking plates and pins, and—”

“And I promise she will rather have a scar than a casket.” May gave his hair a gentle tug, forcing him to look up and meet her eyes. “You’re still the hero, Peter.”

“I could have really hurt her, May.”

May looked at him, searching his face before she just sighed and leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on his temple. “I wish you could see what I see when I look at you,” she whispered against his hair.

Peter wiped away a traitorous tear, and gave a quiet sniff.

“Drink your tea, sweetie.”

Peter did as he was told. When he started to feel something that resembled calm, he frowned and wondered if May had drugged his tea.

But then he blinked and realized it was just an adrenaline crash. One that didn’t last long, because right around the time he began thinking of laying down on the empty bench by the window, Tony burst through the doors.

He was dressed in a nice three-piece suit, his hair windswept and the nano byte reactor still clinging to the front of his chest. “Happy?” he barked, probably not intending it to sound as threatening as it did.

If Happy was bothered by it, he didn’t show it. He just hung up the phone and quickly stepped between Tony and the unsuspecting nurses he probably intended on interrogating. “She’s fine, Tony. Just a broken arm. Quick fix. And the kid’s fine too. Just a scratch.”

Tony didn’t look relieved. “The news said someone was shot.”

Happy did a little shrug and made a so-so gesture with his hand. “Technically, but not really. Peter got grazed.”

“A graze is not a scratch, Happy.”

“It’s a bullet scratch.”

“Jesus,” Tony mumbled, burying his face in his hands. “Either you’re where the kid gets all his bullshit from, or he’s starting to rub off on you.”

Tony gave his eyes another rub, then dropped his hands to his side, his shoulders drooping, looking every bit the image of a man about to experience his own adrenaline crash. “Where is he? He still here?”

“Over here, Stark,” May called out. She gave Peter’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Tony turned and looked across the waiting room, eyes narrowing when he caught site of Peter. “That’s a lot of blood for a scratch.”

“A bullet scratch,” Peter reminded him. He climbed to his feet as Tony made his way over towards him.

“So I heard. Don’t like it any more when you say it,” Tony informed him. Before Peter could assure him he was fine, Tony reached forward, grabbed the back of Peter’s neck and pulled him in for a hug. The bone crushing kind that didn’t really do too much for the scratch on his side.

“Thank you,” Tony whispered. His hand traveled up, cupping the back of Peter’s head as he squeezed tighter. “Thank you so much.”

Tony’s voice was shaky, his pulse pounding.

As Peter reached up to return the hug, he suddenly remembered the way May’s voice had shaken years before, the way she had clung to him for all she was worth back when their world had ended and the bullet had actually hit its mark.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Tony’s shoulder before his memory had a chance to show him Ben again, cold and bloodied.

That could have been Pepper.

And judging by the way Tony’s voice wavered and the way he was holding tight to Peter, Tony knew it too.

Peter opened his eyes and looked over Tony’s shoulder. May was still there, smiling.

“I told you,” she whispered. “The hero.”

And Peter might have been the hero today, but he wasn’t always. He just hugged Tony back and cried into his shoulder.

Eventually, someone came to tell them Pepper was out of surgery, that everything was fine, and the damage had all been repaired.

It was hours later before Peter made it home. Mostly because he wanted to wait and see with his own eyes that Pepper was okay, but a little because the police wanted to get a statement, and Peter had to come up with a believable story that didn’t include the words “spider” or “senses”.

He walked into his room, tossed his bloodied clothes onto the floor, and fell face first onto his mattress.

When he woke up late the next day, it was to find his phone overrun with notifications. There were a few missed calls, a dauntingly large number of text messages, and a few news alerts that had picked up on the keywords “Stark Industries”.

May wandered in some time later. “You’re famous, you know,” she greeted, raising her own phone. “Stark Industries’ intern, identified as Peter Parker, is being credited with saving the unsuspecting CEO’s life when he heroically pulled her out of the path of a bullet early yesterday afternoon.”

She looked up and smiled. “There’s like a dozen more like that,” she says. “Some of them get your name wrong, some don’t mention it at all, but the general consensus seems to be that some big eared kid from Queens saved the day.”

“They didn’t call me big eared.”

 _“_ The Daily Bugle might not have,” May admitted with a wrinkle-nosed shrug. “But MJ definitely worded it that way on Facebook.”

Peter rolled his eyes and tossed his phone on the bed. He sighed and absently pressed on his bandaged side.

“You okay?” May asked.

“I’m fine.” He lied.

She didn’t believe him. He could tell by the look on her face. She didn’t press it though. Instead, she wrapped her robe a little tighter and asked, “Do you want me to make waffles?”

Peter dropped his hand and narrowed his eyes. “Do you know how to make waffles?”

“I know how to put an eggo in a toaster.”

Peter grinned. “Then I’ll take some waffles.”

She stepped forward, gave him a quick kiss to his forehead, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Peter showered, ate half a box of eggos, and proceeded to sit in front of the TV with every determination to stay there.

Tony had other plans though.

Sometime after noon, Peter was roused from an unexpected nap by a sharp and rhythmic tapping on the front door. He frowned, yawned and frowned some more as he hurried across the small apartment.

Peter opened the door to find Tony standing impatiently on the worn out welcome mat. He looked three kinds of tired, but was doing that little half-cocked smirk he did when he was feeling slightly amused. “Nice bedhead.”

Peter frowned and quickly tried to fix his hair. “What are you doing here?”

“Am I not welcome at Chez Parker?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Peter stammered, “I mean—shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”

“Pepper got discharged this morning. She’s at home sleeping.”

“Should she be alone?” Peter asked. “I mean, someone tried to kill her.”

“Relax, Peter. She’s safe,” Tony assured him. “Happy’s with her and FRI is standing guard. No one’s getting to her.”

Peter wanted to point out that both Happy and FRIDAY were there yesterday too, but he was pretty sure Tony already knew that. “Do you know who did it?”

“Not yet.” And if that didn’t sound threatening. “But I’m working on it.”

“Do you—”

“Nope,” Tony cut in, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes. “You’ve done your part. I’ll take it from here.”

“You don’t want my help?”

“I want you to let me handle it,” Tony corrected. “Besides, you’re gonna be busy.”

Peter frowned. “With what?”

Tony just smirked and reached into his jacket pocket. When he pulled out two lanyards with blue and yellow badges, Peter just frowned some more.

“What are those?”

“The answer to your nerdy little prayers,” Tony oh so unhelpfully explained. “You wanted to meet N. B. Wyland. These are the golden tickets.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “You got the tickets?”

“Okay, one, I’m offended that you doubted me,” Tony said, one eyebrow arching higher than the other, “And two, these aren’t your measly, every day, entry level tickets. These are the holy grail of teenage geekdom. Or so I’m told.”

Peter narrowed his eyes and reached for the lanyards. They had the convention’s logo on the front, the dates printed out in little white letters beneath a barcode, but what really stood out were the words “VIP-ALL ACCESS” emblazoned on the front.

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit, indeed.”

Peter looked up, his face hurting from the size of his grin. “Does this mean we get to actually meet—”

“It means you get to actually meet whoever the hell you want,” Tony confirmed. “Those things will get you in to any panel, any meet and greet, photo-op, you name it.”

“Holy shit.” Peter looked at the badges, fingers tracing over the smooth laminated edges reverently. “Thank you so much. Ned’s gonna freak.”

“Just do him a favor and don’t let him do that catatonic thing he does,” Tony suggested.

“Oh, he only does that with you guys,” Peter assured him. “N.B. Wyland is great, but he’s not in the same league as the Avengers.”

“Few are,” Tony said, his smile softening. He blinked and turned, turning his attention towards the chipped paint on the doorjamb. “So, I wanted to thank you again, you know, for what you did yesterday. Pepper, too.” He started scraping his thumb along a splintered piece of wood. “I think she’s making you a gift basket or something.”

“She really doesn’t have to,” Peter said. He looked down at the badges, at the letters VIP again and tried not to think of how much they must have cost. “And, Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to do this, really.”

Tony looked up from the chipped paint and smiled. “Quid pro quo, remember?”

“Yeah, but the deal was for just simple tickets. You went above and beyond.”

“So did you.”

Peter didn’t really know what to say to that.

Tony sighed, and leaned against the door frame, eyes squinting up at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. “But that’s the thing, huh? You didn’t really do anything you wouldn’t normally do. Did you?”

Peter shrugged. “You’d have done the same.”

“If I knew it was coming. But that’s the thing, Peter. If I had been there, she probably would have died. Have you seen the news?”

Peter nodded. “May showed me.”

“They’re calling you a hero,” Tony said. His smile was back. It was soft, but still there. “Not Spider-Man, you. Peter Parker.”

Peter felt his face flush and had to fight to stop the corner of his mouth from quirking up into a smile.

Tony reached forward and tapped the badges. “Enjoy your convention kid, and keep Ned out of trouble.” He gave Peter’s shoulder a parting squeeze and turned towards the elevators.

“You could have just said ‘thank you’,” Peter pointed out. “You didn’t have to do this,” he gestured to the badges. “Sometimes words are enough, Mr. Stark.”

Tony turned around, his feet still slowly carrying him down the hall. “And sometimes they’re not. Just take the win, kid. Heroes don’t always get them. But you knew that already.”

Peter did know that. It had been a hard lesson to learn, one you didn’t have to be a hero to figure out.

But golden tickets or not, wins weren’t counted by the number of prizes earned. Peter glanced at the fridge, at the numerous pictures May had plastered on the door over the years. There was one of his parents, several of Ben before he just disappeared, the timeline of pictures stopping for a while, documenting just how long it took before Peter and May learned that they hadn’t died that day too.

But then they picked up again, showing Peter and May’s changed smiles. There were pictures of Ned, a few new ones with MJ and Happy and even Tony.

Yeah, wins weren’t measured with things, and they were rare, but they were what made it all worth it.


End file.
